


unlike love

by flutter_bi



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Charlie's sick of everyones shit, Exhibitionism, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Voyeurism, and she's taking what she wants, hints of Charlie/Bass/Miles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:10:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4897627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flutter_bi/pseuds/flutter_bi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eighteen months in the Plains Nation bashing heads and bringing tribes together didn’t change the girl one damn bit. Or it completely changed her, he wasn’t sure which.</p>
<p>“Hatred would have been easier. With hatred, I would have known what to do. Hatred is clear, metallic, one-handed, unwavering; unlike love.”<br/>― Margaret Atwood, Cat's Eye</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. Here we go. This is the first fic I've completely written and published in years, and the first on Ao3. Be kind - my writing skills are still a little rough, but I'm slowly getting back to where I was when I stopped writing.
> 
> FYI: I've made a few formatting adjustments since I first posted this, but no text changes. 
> 
> **Prompt Fills**  
>  Chapter 1, Prompt #63: Blanchard & Charlie, “I’m glad to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Matheson.”  
> Chapter 2, Prompt #39: Charlie & Rachel, “The President is waiting to see you.”  
> Chapter 3, Prompt #113: Charlie/Bass/Miles, Touch the fingers of my hand and tell me if it’s me.

Eighteen months in the Plains Nation bashing heads and bringing tribes together didn’t change the girl one damn bit. Or it completely changed her, he wasn’t sure which.  
  
The first time Frank Blanchard met Charlotte Matheson she was pissed off (though he couldn’t read her well enough at the time to see it), exhausted (that was clear), and ready to fight. Now, he knows if she wasn’t pissed off before his visit she will be when he’s done, she’s still exhausted, and ready to fight might as well be her default position.  
  
_Well, what’s a friend for if not to make everything much worse?_  
  
“Why are you here, old man?” There’s no anger in the question, though he does detect a hint of irritation which isn't really all that usual.  
  
“Can’t a friend pay another friend a visit?”  
  
Her laugh is contagious and he’s happy to see that it actually reaches her eyes, at least for now. “Are we friends?”  
  
He shrugs as he reaches out to take the second glass of whiskey she set on the desk in front of him, “We’re both heads of state now, how about that?”  
  
“Close enough, but the question still stands: What do you want?” She over-pronounces each of the last four words and he knows that she knows shit’s about to hit the fan.  
  
His face is suddenly serious and he’s considering waiting until she’s finished her drink and discarded the glass before answering, but time isn't exactly on his side. “They’ll be here in less than a day, Charlie. I held them off for as long as possible, but Miles is bitchin’ and complainin’ about needing soldiers now and we both know that your men are better equipped to handle this than mine are. The Texas Rangers have fought plenty of battles, but this… Well, zombies are really more your thing.”  
  
And he feels bad about this, dropping another war in her lap, he really does, but it’s what Mathesons are made for. That’s what convinced him to let her fight the first war on his behalf a year and a half ago, and she’s done well enough with this one.  
  
Especially considering where she started.

 

* * *

 

  
_Eighteen Months Earlier_  
  
It’s been a mere two months since the defeat of the Patriots and Frank Blanchard is already on to the next battle - or, really, the last battled dressed down and running for the hills. If he’d had any say in the matter, and obviously he doesn't, Sebastian Monroe and Miles Matheson would still be in Texas helping clean up the mess they’d brought to his door. As it was, though, he was surprised he’d been able to keep them towing the Texas Republic line as long as he did.  
  
“I’m glad to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Matheson.” It went against Frank Blanchard’s general nature, not getting up for a woman, but this one was here for serious business and he wanted her to know that he wasn’t interested in pussyfooting around. He also didn’t want her to see that his back was still a little sore from his session with Sara-Anne the night before.  
  
“But you’d rather I was my uncle.” She smiled and he could see why his assistant immediately let the girl into his office even though he’d told the young man to make her wait at least a half hour. The mix between lethal and beautiful practically had him jumping out of his seat to beg at her feet, but he curbed that particular desire and made a note to bring it up with Carmella later. Maybe she had a nice blonde he could buy for a few hours.  
  
The girl had come in all bravado and settled into the chair in front of his desk like she was just as likely to take a nap in it as she was to negotiate terms to come and work for the great Republic of Texas. He figured if she was anything like her uncle then it really was six of one, half a dozen of the other.  
  
Best he push on before she got too comfortable (or uncomfortable) and started getting ideas.  
  
“I’d rather all of my men were your uncle, don’t take it personally. I hate the bastard on a good day, but he sure does know how to kill and that’s what we need right now.”  
  
“Well, isn’t it good for you then that he taught me?”  
  
“Did he teach you how to conquer too?”  
  
“No, or not just him. That I picked up a couple of different places." The smile that spread across her face this time wasn't the same one from earlier. This one didn't reach her eyes and he was about 95% certain that there was no humor behind it at all - or at least not the kind of humor anyone but a Matheson would understand  
  
Blanchard leaned into his chair to settle into the conversation. He forgot about the bruising until his back made contact and he flinched forward; from her raised eyebrow and quirked lip he could tell his suspicion had been true. Miles and Monroe had told her about the hotel room, of course.Goddamn sons of bitches.  
  
His original plan had been to give the girl a pat on the head and send her back to her uncle with her tail between her legs and a better deal to offer the man, but now that she was here, there was no harm in hearing her out. Was there?  
  
Worst case scenario, he got a nice conversation with a pretty girl and a new fantasy out of the deal. He ignored the little voice in the back of his head that told him that there were two things worse than that. One: he got the girl killed and this time when Miles Matheson came for his head, he didn’t have a republic to protect to keep him from waging an all-out war. Two: the girl really was as good as her uncle and instead of hundreds of warring clans he’d end up with a powerful lady Matheson to his north, ready and waiting to take over.  
  
He suspected that latter was more likely than the former and decided he was willing to take the risk; one ruler with many citizens to think of was always preferable to hundreds of them with no loyalties and no brains.  
  
“So what can you do for me, Miss Matheson?”  
  
There was that smile again. It was contagious, and terrifying. “What would you like me to do, Mr. President?”  
  
He ignored the implications - mostly because that wasn’t his particular kink - and carried on. “Your uncle and Monroe did a good job of dealing with the Patriots, but a few have slipped over the borders into the Plains and the Wasteland. The Wasteland’ll take care of its new citizens all on its own, but someone’s gotta deal with the Plains, sooner rather than later.”  
  
“And the Rangers can’t handle it because it’ll invite another war too soon after the last one. But if a few hundred or so good soldiers were to hop across the border and get things in line well,” she slipped into a Texas accent like she was born to it, “all the better.”  
  
“A hundred’s the most we could spare.”  
  
“One-fifty.” She countered. “I was with Miles and Monroe when they fought the Patriots,” she spit the word out like it as acid on her tongue, “I know what it takes to win a war.”  
  
“Now, now,” he raised his hand in a parody of surrender, “I said a hundred soldiers was all we could spare. Got a couple of clans waiting across the border for whoever takes on the assignment.” He hated to admit that the negotiations with her went a lot faster than they ever did with Monroe or Matheson. He spent half his time with those two idiots trading insults, drinking whiskey, and negotiating up or down to the number they all knew they’d end up at from the start. Charlotte Matheson was all business though, and that made her harder to manipulate.  
  
“How’d you swing that?”  
  
“The clans? Diamonds mostly. And there are those close enough to the border to know what peace looks like, they don’t want the Patriots takin’ that away from them and a real war means they lose to one side or the other. This way--”  
  
“This way,” she interrupted, “you get peace and they get to keep their freedom and the only people who really have to pay the price are those who are doing the actual fighting. What’s in it for me?”  
  
“You came to me, little lady, not the other way around.”  
  
“I’m aware, but I don’t work for free, and would you really respect me if I did?”  
  
His laugh was nothing like hers, it was more a guffaw that threatened to shatter the windows and shake the foundation. Frank Blanchard had the sort of humor in him that only came from living every day to its fullest and doing what he damn well pleased. “I guess not. What do you want?”  
  
“Pardons for my uncle and Monroe. Real Presidential pardons not those bullshit promises you made them before things started to calm down and citizens started screaming for their heads. I want them to be able to come and go as they please, so long as they don’t try to take any land or break any laws. I want it in writing.”  
  
“Done.” That request he expected, though he was more than a little perplexed as to why she asked for Monroe too. The next request though, that was a little tougher to swing.  
  
“I want you to give them something to do when they get back. Give them a cabinet position, a town to be the sheriffs of, anything to keep them from going crazy.”  
  
“I can’t--”  
  
“Non-negotiable. You can make it as prestigious or as small as you choose, within reason, and if they say no then that’s on them, but I want them to have something to come back to. Both of them.”  
  
“Why?” He was asking more about Monroe than about Miles and they both knew it.  
  
“Let’s just say it’s in all our bests interests to keep those four hands from being idle and leave it at that.”  
  
“Fair enough. That all?”  
  
“I want the same pay as the Rangers you’re sending, and anything I find of worth in the Plains Nation I get to keep. I don’t want any of your soldiers coming from Willoughby. That town has paid a big enough price already - as a matter of fact, just stay away from it altogether for the next couple of generations and we’ll call your debt to those people square. Deal?”  
  
“You drive a hard bargain,” though they both knew she could have asked for more, “but we have a deal.”  
  
“Good. I’m gonna say goodbye to my grandfather tonight, he’s in Austin for your doctor’s conference or whatever. I’ll be ready to go when you send for me.”  
  
She’s up and out of her seat before he can respond, and she’s at the door before he can think to ask the question that has been gnawing at him, “If you don’t mind me asking, what are you doin’ here in my office instead off with your uncle and mother wherever they’ve gotten off to?”  
  
He can tell from the look on her face that he probably shouldn’t have asked, and if she was in a less giving mood his assistant might be pulling a bullet out of his chest.  
  
She ignored the question, but he could see in her eyes that he was gonna pay a price for bringing it up. “I’ll be ready tomorrow, Blanchard. And my price just went up to double the pay your Rangers are getting.” And there it was.  
  
Despite his annoyance, a smile slid across his face as she shut the door behind her. This might actually work out.  


* * *

  
  
He never did get the whole story of what happened to drive her to him, but he did know that whatever it was had her cursing her mother’s name every time she got drunk enough to loosen her tongue.  
  
He also knew that he was going to do everything in his power to be as far away from those two women as possible when things finally hit the fan, which was why his little trip to the border had been scheduled for a one day stop over only.  
  
The only thing in the world scarier than war was two women fighting, and he was certain that the Matheson women would fight like most men waged war.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the awkward greetings and complicated updates aside, Charlie decided it was time to get to the root of why they were here. They both knew that Rachel was only coming to her for help because she had no other choice -- Miles and Bass couldn’t build up an army strong enough to fight the nano while Rachel and Aaron delivered the virus and, as Blanchard so annoyingly put it, the great Republic of Texas wasn’t equipped to fight zombies. But her men could fight anything; so long as it bled and could be killed, they could kill it.
> 
> But her army was going to come at a steep price and there weren’t enough diamonds left in all the world to pay it. No, she wanted something much more expensive.
> 
> She wanted the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This one turned out a little different than I'd expected. I had a rush through the end a little so that might get cleaned up later, but all in all I think I like it. 
> 
> **Prompt Fills**  
>  Chapter 1, Prompt #63: Blanchard & Charlie, “I’m glad to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Matheson.”  
> Chapter 2, Prompt #39: Charlie & Rachel, “The President is waiting to see you.”  
> Chapter 3, Prompt #113: Charlie/Bass/Miles, Touch the fingers of my hand and tell me if it’s me.

The man at the door was huge and he should have been terrifying, but the scar over his right eyebrow only served to set off the laughing green eyes and wide, open face.  She’d noticed him around the camp a few times, giving orders and laughing with the men. When Miles asked, they were told he was the President’s second-in-command.

“Mrs. Matheson?” He smiled and reached to open the front  door to the small house on the hill. Charlie’s base of operation, though she couldn’t see her daughter living up here, ruling over all of the clans and warlords below.

“Yes. Thanks.”

“No problem. The President is waiting to see you.”

She started to walk through the doors, but something was still nagging at her, clawing in the back of her mind and tearing her attention away from the task at hand. “Do they…” she stuttered for a moment, unsure of how to ask the question. “Is that really what people call her?”

His whole face hardened and Rachel could see now why Charlie had chosen him. The different was like night and day, he’d gone from warm and amused to cold and stoic in the time it took to ask one simple question.

“That’s what she is.”

She wasn’t sure if he decided to take pity on her or if he just wanted to head off some of Charlie’s stress at the pass, but instead of leaving his response to that kurt sentence, he continued on. “Listen, I understand she’s your daughter and you see her a certain way, but before you go in there you should know that these men follow her for good reason. She didn’t just fall into this job - she rallied those soldiers you see down there. Whether or not the girl you know was capable of doing something like that, the woman you’re about to talk to was. So yes, we call her the President.”

She wouldn’t find out until much later that he was only telling half the truth. They did call her the President, but only around people they considered to be uptight bureaucrats. She rarely ever heard her daughter called anything but President Matheson.

Bass and Miles rarely heard her called anything but Charlie or Boss.

 

* * *

With the awkward greetings and complicated updates aside, Charlie decided it was time to get to the root of why they were here. They both knew that Rachel was only coming to her for help because she had no other choice -- Miles and Bass couldn’t build up an army strong enough to fight the nano while Rachel and Aaron delivered the virus and, as Blanchard so annoyingly put it, the great Republic of Texas wasn’t equipped to fight zombies. But her men could fight anything; so long as it bled and could be killed, they could kill it.

But her army was going to come at a steep price and there weren’t enough diamonds left in all the world to pay it. No, she wanted something much more expensive.

She wanted the truth.

“Did you know?”

“That you had feelings for Bass?” Rachel considered playing stupid, Charlie could see it in her eyes, but they were passed that now. She wasn’t a little girl who could be placated with a handy lie and a motherly smile. Too much had changed.

Charlie got up from her desk and paced over to the window. Pretending that she was taking stock of her new empire seemed preferable to bashing her mother’s head against the nearest hard surface until the woman had some sense knocked into her, “ _Feelings._ Yeah, we’ll go with that, did you know when you kissed him, when you reminded him of your night together in Philadelphia, when you did both of those things where I could hear them, that I had _feelings_ for Monroe.”

“I suspected. You’d been following him around like an idiot puppy waiting for him to pat you on the head for months.” And there was that Rachel Matheson signature biting honesty. Charlie suspected it hadn’t peaked its head out long enough for her mother to tell Miles the truth. No, somehow it only managed to show itself when it suited Rachel’s purpose.

“An idiot puppy.” Odd that one small comment was all it took for hurt and sadness to turn to anger, resentment, and a need to strike out immediately and irrevocably. “Is that what you thought?”

“It’s the truth, Charlie. You followed him around, hanging on his every word and I could see you getting in deeper and deeper, becoming more like him. More willing to kill to get what you needed—what you wanted. I couldn’t let that happen. He’d already ruined Miles and his own son, I wasn’t going to let him take my daughter too. Not you.”

And that, she was reminded, was what kept her from confronting her mother in the first place. She wasn’t lying, Charlie could tell when Rachel was spinning a story, trying to save herself from the fallout of a stupid decision. But this time the sincerity in her voice couldn’t be doubted - she really did think she was on a mission of mercy that day. _God, how could she be so blind?_

“I wasn’t following a man who didn’t want me around like an idiot puppy, mom. I was spending time with the man I’d been fucking for weeks.”

Rachel recoiled as if she’d been slapped and for the first time in a long time Charlie felt like the ground was shifting under her feet and righting itself. Her goal wasn’t to cause pain, but it didn’t hurt her feelings any to have her mother feel a little of bit of what had been eating at her since that day in Willoughby.

“And I wasn’t just becoming more like him, I was becoming more like Miles too. You think I took the Plains, that I got to this position just based on what I learned from Bass in that short time we were together? You think he’s the one that taught me to unbutton my shirt a little to shift a man’s attention from the weapon at my hip to the ones on my chest? Do you really, honestly, believe that Bass taught me to use the sweet country girl routine to get under someone’s guard before they knew I had a knife to their throat? We were sleeping together, mom, do you think he advised me to smile pretty at the Patriot soldiers and screw them if I had to, to get information on troop movements?

“Are you really so blind that you can’t see that Miles and Bass are cut from the same cloth—that I’m not odd one out because I haven’t murdered thousands of people, but you are because you act like none of it was your fault. Jesus, say what you will about Monroe, but at least he accepts who he is. At least he’s willing to admit that he’ll do whatever it takes to win a war. Can you say the same?”

She’d inched closer and closer to Rachel the angrier she got and now that she was finally done, she found herself leaning against the front of her desk, standing over her mother with her fist clenched so hard she fully expected to find her hands bleeding when she looked down.

Rachel sat for a moment, stunned and hurt. Had Monroe really got his hooks so far into her daughter that she still couldn’t see what the man was? “I wasn’t lying that day Charlie. He did kiss me and we did…” she trailed off, trying to find the right words for what happened in Philadelphia, trying to figure out the ratio of right to wrong on her part. “He did have sex with me.”

Charlie knelt down in front of her mother and took her hands. With this, if nothing else, she could sympathize. It was hard sometimes, deciphering where one person’s demands began and another person’s choice ended. She’d struggled with it enough on her own.

“I know, mom, I understand about Philadelphia and how fucked up all of that was. I understand why you hate him. What I don’t understand, what I can’t make myself come to terms with, is why you felt like hurting me was the only way you could get your point across. Why do you believe that your emotional manipulations are somehow better than his?” 

“I did it to protect you.” Her voice reeked of desperation and her eyes were searching some glimmer of hope. 

Hope she wasn’t going to find. Not here, not in place where you clawed your way to the house on the top of the hill by killing those who stood in your way.  

“You keep singing that song, mom, but I can’t listen anymore. I think you’re wrong. I don’t think you were trying to protect me anymore than you’ve tried to protect Miles. I think you just want to hurt Monroe.”

“He isn’t that—”

Charlie cut her off, “He is that what, mom? Isn’t that important? Are you really, truly going to pretend like taking him out hasn’t been your secondary goal since he set foot in Willoughby?” She would have said primary, but Rachel loved having problems to solve and the nanotech had provided her with the perfect puzzle. One she could solve on her own, one that would absolve her of the sin of creating it to begin with.

“He murdered Danny!”

“And he saved me! More than once, mom, more than a dozen times.” Charlie rolled off of her toes back onto her heels so she could stand up, and began pacing again. It didn’t seem to matter how many times she said it, the ratio of taking Danny’s life to saving hers never quite evened for her mother. The scales never did tip in her favor.

“Why do you think he did that Charlie?” And now Rachel was up and out of her seat, pacing the opposite side of the room. Picking up and putting down the scales of justice and thumbing at law books in the house that must of belong to a lawyer before the lights went out. And wasn’t that interesting, her daughter who seemed to abhor truth and justice was living in the home of someone meant to uphold it?

“Certainly not because he didn’t want to see me dead, mom. So you tell me: why did he do it?”

“For Miles, to get back in good with him.”

Charlie’s laugh was humorless and she followed it up with an incredulous shake of her shoulders, “Yeah, and how did fucking me square up with that end goal? Think Miles is gonna be real happy to hear about Bass bending me over the nearest hard surface as often as possible?

The question churned in Charlie’s gut and she found herself closing her eyes against the image of Miles smiling and stroking himself to completion as Bass pushed into her, his tongue dancing around her nipple and his fingers scratching at her skin wherever he could reach. It was an old fantasy and one she was completely willing to accept was screwed up as long as it still worked to get her off on the dark nights when the paranoia and doubt started to creep in.

“Charlie…you don’t know them together. I just wanted to protect you.” Her shoulder sagged and for the first time Charlie saw the dark circles under her mother’s eyes. “They can be enthralling and when Miles is with Bass...they aren’t good for each other.”

Was that it? Was that what this had been about all along? Not her and Bass, but Miles and Bass? Or was there more…? _I couldn’t let it happen. Not you. He did have sex with me. You don’t know them together. I just wanted to protect you._ Rachel’s words rang in her ears, filtered through her brain so she could pick them apart and put them back together in a way that made sense. In a way that told her the true story—the whole story.

It had never _just_ been Bass that her mother disapproved of. Charlie thought back to the first reunion in Philadelphia, to the three of them trying to escape Monroe and his men. With everything else that had happened, Rachel’s first question, her immediate concern had been whether or not Miles hurt her. Why would she ask that? She knew Miles left the Militia, left Bass. Why would she still see him as a threat?

With all the question running through her head and her mother half passed out in the middle of her office, Charlie made a decision. She had finally had all the truth she needed and she knew exactly what she was going to do with it—Rachel Matheson’s concerned be damned.

“Mom,” she reached out and took her mother’s hand in her own, turned them both over to compare them. Her mother the scientist wouldn’t have had calluses on her hands, her fingers would have never split or cracked or bled, but the world was different now. Everything was different now. “Go get some rest. We can table this for now, and regardless of what else happens I’ll help you fight against the nano. I have to live in this world too.”

For the first time in a long time Rachel and Charlie smiled at each other and left a room hand-in-hand. Rachel was sure she’d finally gotten through to her daughter, sure she’d saved her from Bass’ horrible influence, from what could happen if the three of them ever became too close.

Charlie on the other hand finally knew what she wanted, and even better: she knew exactly how to get it.

 


End file.
